A Desert's Heart
by Venric66
Summary: A collection of vignettes and drabbles mainly centered on the relationships between Commander Shepard, Thane Krios, and Garrus Vakarian, spanning throughout all games. Not slash. Various prompts, lengths, and settings. Rating may change.
1. Prelude

**Title: **Prelude**  
Characters/Pairing: **Nassana Dantius, Shepard/Thane  
**Rating: **T (Though I'm going to be safe and add a trigger warning for SOME violence.)  
**Word Count: **1,235  
**Summary: **Thane is intrigued by Shepard from the first moment he sees her.

* * *

"I'm no assassin, Nassana... But I am looking for one." Stony, grey-blue eyes flicker up to the shafts above them, prompting Thane into movement. She hasn't seen him, yet. Thoroughly calculated measures have been taken to ensure that she hasn't. Not until he wants her to. Right now is that time, if there ever is one. Ebony orbs narrow in consideration. So _he_ is her objective, after all. _But why? _

This is supposed to be his last mission. Cautiously; _fastidiously,_ he has tracked down his target, silently infiltrating this fortress of a tower and taking out numerous guards and mercenaries without so much as a word. Muffled, choked screams tumbling from the throats of his fallen victims are the only warning he allows. Foreboding grace and the promise of danger: he is the night. Everything has been prudently planned. Slip in without alerting Nassana or causing too much pandemonium, take out anyone in his way without fail, and eliminate the target. After that task is completed, if the last of the guards take him down, then so be it. It would be a noble death; to complete his last, fatal mission and die by the hands of the last of her guards storming in to avenge her on his way out. A good end to a life.

And then, _she_ charges in. Loud and commanding, with reckless abandon for anyone, or any_thing,_ that gets in her way. Plowing through every mercenary that tries to stop her from reaching her goal, her relentless momentum arouses the drell's interest. A hurricane, leaving nothing but destruction in her wake. A shiver of apprehension crawls into his consciousness and sparks something deep within him, igniting a long since forgotten drive-the fiercely determined need to reach his target first. His pride as a trained shadow killer depends on it.

However brash and indiscreet, there is a certain poise to the woman's movements in battle. Fluent motions of her limbs flash before the assassin's eyes as the armored woman springs out of cover, purging any enemies in her immediate range with combinations of fluid hand-to-hand combat and sharp jerks of her heavy pistol. Rolling back into cover for a moment to recoup and reload, only to pop out again a moment later to repeat the routine. Dancing across the battlefield with an elegance deprived of most soldiers Thane has had the contingency to encounter.

Intrigue flitters across the forefront of his mind, fluctuating among the slowly prickling string of questions prodding at his conscience. Judging by the N7 insignia on her armor, he can deduce that she is Human Alliance, Marine Special Forces. Two companions follow her into battle; a turian and a salarian, but neither seem to share her employers. Even more curious. Such a small woman in stature, yet somehow so fierce in the face of danger. Enough power in her voice to command an army into action, but also enough compassion in her heart to spare and free the salarian workers that he had locked into the storage rooms previously for their own safety, allowing them to escape through the path she has cleared.

Concentration creases his scaly brow as he listens to their conversation from his position in the air ducts above the female marine and her comrades.

"You break in here and decimate my security just to find the person who's here to kill me? What are you playing at, Shepard?"

So she _is_ here for him. What is her purpose? Why go to so much trouble to find him? Endless thoughts and inquiries skirt about his mind as the assassin observes the eyes glare in frustration at the commander-Shepard, Thane notes-as the asari is denied of the information she had been expecting.

Enough delay. Distractions have proved useful to Thane up until this point, permitting him to slink farther into Nassana Dantius' tower and eliminate a large number of her mercenaries with an ease that would have previously been difficult to achieve. Something about the woman reawakens an electrifying thrill he has been devoid of for a very long time. Watching her reactions to the little "gifts" he has left for her here and there has aroused even more curiosity for the relentless, yet somehow compassionate, tornado of devastation. Briefly, he is reminded of Irikah, and the blind courage she once displayed to protect a complete stranger from their untimely demise.

_Laser dot trembles on the skull. Spice on the spring wind. Sunset eyes defiant in the scope. _

A slight shake of his head diminishes the vivid memory, smothering it into oblivion in the dark recesses of his mind. Now is not the time to reminisce. Midnight green irises flash with new, vehement resolve. No; now he has a contract to fulfill, and an end to greet with open arms. The time to act is in this fleeting, opportune moment. There is no room for error. No slip-ups.

Just action, and a scrupulously honed instinct.

With that thought, Thane crawls forward, knowing, and uncaring, of the alarm his movements evoke in the large office. Detection is no longer a present risk. Metallic clamors reverberate through the steel air vents, echoing out into the ears of paralyzed victims. Even with Thane's careless discord, Nassana somehow remains oblivious. Possibly even consciously so. However, her guards are more apprehensive.

"What?" Growling through her clenched teeth, the asari's voice is slow and menacing. Daring anyone to speak against her.

"I heard something." The slight tremor of fear that quivers the guard's voice is not lost to Thane. Muffling his movements, the assassin perches above a large opening in the ducts directly overhead the two guards behind Nassana, waiting for an opening. _Perfect. _

"Damn it! Check the other entrances!" Orders are barked from her mouth, eyes crazed and voice sharp. Spinning around on her heel, she rounds on the female soldier and her comrades standing calmly before her desk. "You... stay put." she hisses. Seeing this as his window of opportunity, the drellish assassin is propelled into action. _So let it begin. _

Without warning, a silent thud of Thane's boots pulse against the hard, marble flooring as he drops into the room from his overhead position in the air shafts. Raven orbs glare into the backs of his enemies, piercing their souls and subliminally tormenting their minds. _Movements as swift as bullets in the darkness. Elegance only achieved by a master combatant. Haunting, starless eyes plaguing their nightmares until they can dream no more. A murmur of death in the endless void of caliginosity. _

A neck snaps with a subtle crack of brittle bones resounding into the tight space of combat.

_A shadow in the night. _

Scaled knuckles collide with a fragile windpipe.

_A whisper of danger in the wind. _

Snagging her gun and countering the Commando's attacks with sharp jabs to her abdomen, Thane takes down a third mercenary within seconds.

"When I'm finished dealing with this nuisance, you and I are going to..." Without missing a beat, the drell knocks aside the asari's attempt at an attack and pins the borrowed gun to Nassana's stomach, stealing the breath directly from her lungs. She gasps.

"Who...?" Disbelieving eyes flicker and widen with fearful shock.

_Find peace in the embrace of the Goddess. _

A single shot is fired, tearing through the asari's vital organs and rippling out through the sound barrier.

_It is done._


	2. Nightmare

**Title: **Nightmare  
**Characters/Pairing: **Mentioned Shepard/Thane, slight Shepard/Garrus  
**Rating: **T  
**Word Count: **2,424 (Okay, it's a little long. But I couldn't help it. These things write themselves.)  
**Summary: **Shepard is feeling discouraged after a nightmare and a friend comes to her rescue.

* * *

_Flashes of gleaming crimson light streak across the endless darkness. A startling, violent hum drones throughout the air, emanating from somewhere far off in the distance of the void. A low, buzzing siren. A warning._

_Whispers on metal lips of annihilation; of subjugation and utter chaos. Promises of death and indoctrination. **"You exist because we allow it, and you will end because we demand it."**_

Cold sweat forms in beads along the surface of pale skin, and then collects and trickles down the steep, sharp angles of Shepard's brow as her teal eyes snap open and she jolts into consciousness. Heavy gasps for air frantically pass through her parted lips, her chest heaving with the action; rising with every new, indrawn breath, and falling with every staggering exhalation. Loud, thundering heartbeats pound against her ribcage, echoing an unsteady rhythm. Deafening silence clings to the air, so thick it is almost tangible.

Seconds pass. Minutes. Eventually, stillness encompasses the room. Desperate, breathless panting calms and becomes smooth, even breathing. Out of habit, Shepard turns to her left, half expecting to see the familiar scaly drell enveloped in the blankets beside her. Disappointment sinks into the pit of her stomach when the commander realizes that he is not there. Loneliness kisses her heart at the thought that he may never sleep beside her again. A strange thing to grieve, yet Shepard cannot help but yearn for him, even if it is such a thing as simple as missing his presence in the darkness of the night. Tonight is not the first her slumber has been disturbed by nightmares.

Eidetic memories of toned, warm arms snaking around her waist in the dark and pulling her stiff, shaking body against his taut form as she curls up to better fit against him devour her mind. Salty tears soak into his bare scales as she cries into his chest, small form convulsing with every choked out, violent sob. Gentle, protective arms instinctively wrap around her vulnerable body and hold her close while she clings desperately to the drell. Feather-light touches caress the small of her back as long, thin fingers smooth her charcoal tresses. Gentle lips graze her forehead tenderly, lingering on the surface of pale, cold skin. Soothing murmurs of reassurance in her ear.

_"Siha..."_

A shudder, and Shepard's memories are harshly interrupted; torn away from her conscience by the cold, cruel hands of reality. _He isn't here anymore._ Desires of leaving the room-leaving this _bed-_-tug at her mind, drawing Shepard to abandon the warmth of the tangled mess of blankets twisted around her lower body.

This late into the night, few on the Normandy are still awake, tucked into their bunks and hopefully lost in a dreamland far more pleasant than Shepard's constant, distressing night terrors. Somehow, Shepard's legs lead her down to the Crew Deck, and she finds herself drawn to the kitchen. Silence hangs just as heavy in the air surrounding the rest of the ship as it does in Shepard's quarters. Soft, whirring hums of the ship's engine are just barely audible with the absence of the lively bustling of the crew, and they are her only company.

Steaming, herbal tea sounds particularly appealing to the commander, and she sets out to fix herself a mug. Reflections of hallowed, tired eyes and too pale skin framed by messy raven locks stare back up at her in the deep amber liquid as she allows herself to pause, mind wandering. Again, memories of Thane resurface...

Herbal tea is his favorite, he tells her when she inquires about the ebony mug that is always there, either cupped by his large, yet graceful hands, or resting untouched on his table, awaiting use. Dark eyes with barely visible green irises blink up at her in a soft, knowing look. Eyes that can be so cold and stoic one moment, but then come alive with warmth and affection in her presence in the next. Sharp lips quirk up into a thoughtful smile; the expression subtle, but a clear contrast to the usual thin, straight line of his mouth. Thumb twitching around the steaming mug, Thane's hand disregards the cup and tentatively reaches out for her own. Smooth scales enclose around soft skin; his two fused fingers tangling with her five appendages and finally settling; lacing together in an uneven hold. Both are content to stay like that for the rest of their short days together. But it is not so.

Abrupt ripples distort broken, tired reflections in golden liquid; Shepard's metal spoon disturbing the memories resurfaced in the image. Pushing back her startlingly clear recollections, she takes a cautious sip and allows her eyes to slide shut with the pleasant, calming feeling that washes over her with the herbal concoction. For now, reveling in the small pleasures that she can take when and where they are allowed is all she can do to escape. Lingering on the past is something she does not have time for. Not yet, anyway. Shepard will save that for after the drell has departed from this life-from her-and after the Reapers have been brought to an end. Perhaps not even then.

Closed lids find her surrounded in disconcerting shadows where haunting, bass sirens drone through the void, so loud that it trembles her very bones. Scarlet lasers pierce the dark sky, glaring into her soul. **_"I am the vanguard of your destruction."_**

"Trouble sleeping?"

A gasp of indrawn breath floods Shepard's lungs, and her body inherently jerks with a start. Steaming hot tea splashes and flies over the glassy walls of her green mug, scalding the surface of her small hand. Cursing under her breath, Shepard hastily sets down the beverage.

Mandibles flare with penitence, and the turian offender fumbles to turn on the sink. Three long, clawed fingers wrap around Shepard's narrow wrist, gently pulling her hand under the chilled, flowing water. Icy relief rushes over her burned skin, drowning out the searing pain and sending a gradual remedy through her flesh.

"Sorry. Didn't mean to scare you." Subvocals clicking apologetically, the turian averts his frosty blue eyes, swimming with guilt, from the quickly reddening wound on Shepard's hand.

A jet black river of hair that frames her face dances and flows around her features at the gentle shake of her head. "I've had worse." A pause. "And so have you." Turquoise-grey eyes drink in the sharp angles of the turian's face and brightly colored markings, finally settling on the large, jagged scar spanning across the entire left side of his jaw. Puffy markings that jut out from the already rough plating of his skin and angular features.

Feeling Shepard's heavy gaze, Garrus shifts and turns to meet her eyes for a fleeting moment. Stillness encompasses them; a comfortable silence that both are content to relish, if only for a short while. Discomfort is far past them, even though neither of them know quite what to say. Silence is solacing to them, after all they've been through, between Saren and the Collectors.

Sensing Shepard's inner anxiety, Garrus feels a growing hunger to ease her unsettled mind; or to at least distract her from it, if need be. "Nightmares keep you awake?"

Whispers of darkness singing of extinction in her memories instantly dispel and then vanish, and the commander busies herself with the challenge of drying her hand without aggravating the tender burn. "Something like that," she finally murmurs.

"Was it the Reapers again?" Shepard's slight nod of confirmation is all the turian needs to understand her distraught demeanor. He knows her too well.

Quiet rings in the air around them once more, and Garrus is unsure of what to do or say next. Shifting nervously on his feet, the turian folds his arms and watches Shepard gaze into the murky liquid of her tea with contemplating eyes. Sentences sputter and fail to form in his mind as he attempts to force himself to fill in the empty, hanging silence eating at the kitchen. Words falter and die on his tongue, and even with their closeness, he cannot come up with anything to say that would ease her troubled mind. Any words he could possibly think of seem incredibly insufficient. As it turns out, he doesn't have to think of anything at all.

"Sometimes, it all just seems so... pointless. You know? So futile. All the odds are telling us we're going to fail. I mean..." Her sentence trails off, and she lets it hang in the air for a moment before continuing. "Are we just being naive to think that this is even possible? What if... What if we're just blindly charging into something that we don't even have a chance against to begin with?"

A frown settles on Garrus' face, mandibles tight against his jaw and browplates lowered over his eyes. Subharmonics hum softly with disquiet. Large, taloned hands reach out to grasp her shoulder firmly; a powerful action, albeit simple, that sends a ripple through the woman's nerves and instantly makes the worries awaiting vocalism in her throat falter and die away; back into the dark recesses of her mind. Intense, icy blue eyes penetrate her own stormy orbs in a steady, unwavering gaze.

"Stop." Gentle murmurs of consolation; of comfort. Rushed doubts tremble on her lips and become still. "Shepard, the odds have never been on our side. You know that. That's never stopped you before.. I don't think there's anything you can't do. And if there is, you'll die trying. Hell, you _did,_ and not even that stopped you. Might have slowed you down a little, but it didn't stop you." Mandibles twitch into a small smile.

"You're the best damn soldier I know, and you're anything but naive. So I don't want to hear any more of that." A downward glance, and Shepard breaks eye contact. Browplates furrow once more into a frown, and Garrus leans down just enough to draw her eyes up to meet his again.

"Shepard, what's really bothering you?"

She cannot help but want to squirm under the turian's heavy gaze. A gaze that somehow knows everything about her; that can see right through any facade she decides to assume.

A sigh.

"Thane's condition is getting worse. He's been put under intensive treatment at Huerta Memorial Hospital now. It... made me realize that no matter what we do right now, no matter how many enemies we put down, no matter how much I-"

Screaming fears that torment her mind threaten to break loose as the commander's tongue darts about her mouth. Words no longer have meaning, and they come spilling from her lips like drops of flowing water; impossible to stop. Unspoken confessions of love catch in her throat, never to leave her breath.

"We always knew that our time would be limited. And whether we defeat the Reapers or not, Thane is still going to die. People everywhere are still going to die, no matter if we succeed or not. ...It just all feels so damn_ pointless_."

Previously calm, even heartbeats fly into orbit, drumming unsteadily against the cave of the turian's chest. Fluttering pulses jerk and skip a beat at the mention of the drell, and for the life of him, Garrus can't figure out why. Twisting knots form in his stomach, wringing the small organ dry. Impetuous waves of nausea are choked down as the soldier composes himself enough to form a sentence.

"Shepard, none of us know what's going to come of this..." Picking out his words with care, he begins slowly. "And, to be honest, it doesn't look all that great right now. In fact, it seems pretty impossible. But..." Struggling for the right things to say, the turian huffs; a short exhalation of frustrated breath.

For a moment, Garrus wants to tell Shepard everything. How much she really means to him. How, without her, he would no longer be able to function properly. Life would be utterly dull; meaningless, and the never-ending, perpetual expanses of the galaxy would simply feel... inexplicably empty.

Experience proves this paralyzing fear to be veracious; for Garrus _has_ been without her. He has watched her body float away, helpless, into the unforgiving expanse of open space as she struggled to _breathe_, suffocating and choking with _every miserable gasp_ for breath. _Spaced. _Garrus has seen her _die-_-and he doesn't expect that his battered heart would be able to do it again. Biting back verbal expressions of agony, of her burning vitality to his very being, the sniper settles on comfort instead. Right now, Shepard needs support-the turian is not so blind that he will ignore that. Confessions of his own selfishness would not help her; only create more stress for her strained, tired soul, and it would take far more vanity on his part to let that happen.

"You're right, Shepard. People are going to die. And it may be strangers-civilians, soldiers, innocents.. Maybe even people we know. We _are _charging into something we don't have a chance against. But we've already done the impossible. Twice. And I have a damn good feeling that we could do it again." The slightest waver pauses his rough voice. "...But not without you. None of this would be possible without you. We need you, Shepard."

_I need you._ Garrus stops for a moment, searching for the right way to convey his feelings without giving too much away.

"Shepard, just remember that no matter what happens, you'll always have your turian best friend to watch your six for you. I've got your back, Shepard. No matter what."

Wide, teal eyes flicker in baffled surprise before calming warmly and settling on appreciation. Somehow, the turian has expressed exactly what she needs to hear. Garrus always knows just the right way to set her troubled, sleepless mind at ease. An abrupt and rather staggering impulse to grab the alien and coil her arms around him until they are both deprived of the ability to draw air into their lungs, gasping for oxygen, overwhelm her, and Shepard is unsure how to react for just a brief moment. An offer of a tired, yet sincerely grateful smile spreading across her lips is all the commander can manage this time.

"Thanks, Garrus. You always know what to say." Weariness laces her rough voice, weak with the weight of the burdens that weigh so heavily down on her shoulders. A startling and harsh contrast to her normally strong, commanding voice. But Garrus knows that she means it, nonetheless. And that is enough.

A nod. "Anytime, Shepard."


End file.
